


Just to Sound Impressive

by Buffintruder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Off Screen Violence, Rescue, a generally pretty light hearted tone, ocs for antagonists, post armageddidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:59:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15623070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffintruder/pseuds/Buffintruder
Summary: In which Crowley is missing, Aziraphale kicks some ass, and certain witchfinders are better at their job than others.





	Just to Sound Impressive

Crowley was missing, and all the signs in his flat pointed to a struggle. 

It wasn’t anything Heaven did. Aziraphale would have heard something about it if they had. He didn’t think it was Hell either, considering the traces of holy water* he saw in a corner of the living room, right next to the pot of cowering hyacinths. 

 

*Aziraphale didn’t know that Crowley kept holy water of his own, in case Hell did try to visit him.

 

In fact, Aziraphale was almost certain he knew exactly who had taken Crowley. A trio of youngish humans had been showing up lately around the duck pond and other places Aziraphale and Crowley spent time around. They even visited Aziraphale’s bookstore once. Along with their statistically unlikely number of run-ins, this group frequently gave Aziraphale and Crowley a few covertly suspicious looks, although that could have been for a number of reasons. 

Terms like race, gender, romance, and sexuality had very little meaning to an angel or demon in their natural state, but on Earth they tended to adopt personas that fit in with human understandings of the first two, while the latter two tended to be assumptions assigned by others regardless of the truth. It wouldn’t be the first time that Aziraphale and Crowley were mistaken for an interracial gay couple, and it wouldn’t be the first time they had come across racists and homophobes either. But this trio had also tricked Crowley into getting his sunglasses knocked off and were far too interested in the supernatural section of Aziraphale’s bookshop to just be regular bigots. 

At the time, Aziraphale and Crowley had mostly ignored them, other than a bit of occasional mind suggestion to get the trio to leave them alone. Looking back, their arrogance may have been a mistake.

Crowley, as the straighter and whiter looking* of the two, was the less likely one of them to be targeted under more normal circumstances, but he was also the one that stood out more easily as supernatural.

 

*Aziraphale clung to Middle Eastern looking forms, having grown accustomed to that sort of appearance during the first couple thousand years of his life. Meanwhile, Crowley tried to blend in with the more privileged population of wherever he currently was.

 

Other than some records and documents that didn’t quite line up right and an imperfect grasp on modern technology and culture, Aziraphale seemed very human and non-threatening to an outsider. Crowley, however, had his too-tight snakeskin ‘boots’ and yellow eyes and a tendency to hiss when nervous, not to mention his intimidating and slightly off-putting air. He was more likely to catch the eye of suspicious people who knew about the occult.

The trio of humans, were probably witchfinders of a sort, similar to the group Shadwell and Newton were part of, but far more competent. Aziraphale generally admired competence, of course, since he appreciated those who kept humans safe from supernatural threats, but not when they decided that  _ Crowley  _ was a threat and wanted to take matters into their own hands.

Aziraphale was perfectly capable of handling Crowley on his own; after all, they had an Arrangement that had worked centuries before the witchfinding trio’s great great grandparents were even a possibility. He didn't need or want help defeating Crowley's wiles*.

 

*Not that either of them were doing much of that kind of thing these days, ever since they stood up to Heaven and Hell to stop the apocalypse.

 

As much as he kept his internal monologue focused on his vague irritation at the witchfinders, deep down, he was quite aware that the cause of the queasy clenching feeling in his belly was something quite different. He was careful, however, not to let any of his worry for his missing friend show when he approached his bookstore, only to find one of the witchfinders, a tall blond girl, standing at the entry.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked coolly. He wanted to brush past her into the shop, but there was a chance that if he talked to the witchfinder, maybe he could figure out exactly who they were and where they were keeping Crowley, if they truly were the ones who had taken him.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Fell?” the girl asked instead of answering. Her eyes were full of fake concern. “I came here to buy one of the books I was considering last time I came, but you seem worried.”

Aziraphale felt a surge of angry defensiveness. First this girl had taken his only friend and was subjecting him to God knew what sort of horrors, and now she wanted his books too! 

Still, he kept this all underneath a calm exterior while his mind quickly whirled away at a response. He needed to make sure Crowley was safe; that was his top priority. But in order to do that, he would have to get information from the girl. Aziraphale could just follow her to the witchfinders’ lair, but if he didn’t know what he was stepping into, the risk of something going wrong would be higher than it needed to be.

“I’m afraid I can’t find my partner*. I stopped by his apartment, and it seemed like he left in a hurry. I’m just worried something’s wrong, is all.” He stood in front of the door to his store, making no move to unlock it.

 

*Aziraphale had meant the business kind, but the word had gained a new connotation while he wasn’t paying attention.

 

“Did you file a missing person’s report?” the girl asked, sharp eyes observing him.

Aziraphale knew that the wrong answer here could bring him trouble. He didn’t think she knew he was a supernatural entity working with Crowley, or else he would undoubtedly be kidnapped as well, but he was still probably under suspicion.

“He does this, sometimes, where he disappears for a few days,” Aziraphale lied, deciding to mislead her by pretending to be a regular human, just to be safe. “His flat was messier than usual, but I don’t want to get the police involved until I know he’s in trouble. He hasn’t even been gone for a full day yet.”

“Do you know where your boyfriend goes when he disappears?” the girl asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. She sounded genuinely curious, which was interesting. Perhaps the witchfinders really did believe that Aziraphale was just a human who had gotten too close to the wrong person. Or perhaps she was just toying with him.

Aziraphale shook his head. “He never says.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said, scarcely bothering to sound sincere. “I do hope you find him soon, but don’t you think that if he’s keeping secrets like where he disappears to, he might be hiding something bigger and worse? I’m sure this isn’t what you want to hear in this time of concern, but you should keep that in mind.”

Aziraphale frowned uneasily, and the girl walked off, thankfully without demanding to buy one of his books. After noting which direction she took off in, he went back inside to pick up his sword. In order not to attract attention, he turned off its flames. Going down the street the girl had taken, Aziraphale set off to track her down.

Walking quickly, he managed to catch sight of her before she turned around some unexpected corner. Aziraphale maintained a good distance as she walked confidently through the London streets. Their lair must not be too far if she wasn’t taking some other form of transportation, he thought.

It ended up taking a good twenty minutes before she entered an old brick building on the verge of falling apart. If he didn’t have good reason to think that Crowley was being held in there, he never would have gone inside it.

As an angel, Aziraphale did not have a physical heart, but if he did, it would be pounding. It took Aziraphale a moment to realize that he was more afraid of the state he would find Crowley in than he was of getting hurt himself.

Aziraphale was tempted to storm into the building, wings spread and sword aflame, terrifying anybody who had dared to harm his companion of six thousand years. But this was Crowley’s life at stake, and he was currently held by people who had some idea of what they were doing. They might not be intimidated by Aziraphale. They might even have defenses against him. 

Instead of charging in, Aziraphale quietly opened the unlocked* door and made his way down a hallway. Only one of the doors was open, light streaming through into the dim corridor.

 

*Which should have been a hint that something was wrong.

 

“—us your purpose for being on this Earth,” someone was demanding, the male witchfinder by the sound of the voice.

“How—how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t  _ have _ one?” Crowley choked out, filling Aziraphale with relief and more worry.

Without hesitation, Aziraphale rushed up to the door of that room, his sword held out, not yet on fire. He paused to take stock of the situation and peered inside the room before he entered. 

Before he could process what was happening, Aziraphale was on the ground, his sword skittering just out of reach, and someone was tightly holding his hands behind his back. That person roughly pulled him to his feet, pushing him further inside.

Two adults instantly turned their heads to face him, but Aziraphale paid them no attention. He was focused on Crowley, who was tied to some elaborate medieval torture device. The iron frame was covered with carved symbols that would prevent any demon from using their powers while inside the thing. His yellow eyes widened the moment he spotted Aziraphale.

“What are you doing here?!” Crowley hissed, his tongue flicking nervously.

The person holding him, the girl Aziraphale had been following, spoke. “Turns out that the demon’s  _ lover _ ,” she spat the word out like it was a piece of fruit that was unexpectedly filled with maggots, “was in the know after all.”

“Told you,” said the third member of the group, a small middle aged woman.

“Corrupting humans with your vile ways, are you now?” the man demanded Crowley, who gave no response.

“Giselle, tie Mr. Fell up. He’s an accomplice, if nothing else,” the woman said.

The person holding him loosened her grip and Aziraphale felt coarse rope rub against his wrists. Before Giselle could tie any knots, Aziraphale kicked her away and lunged to grab his sword which promptly burst into flames.

“I’m afraid that Crowley is not corrupting any  _ humans _ ,” Aziraphale said, sounding far more calm than he felt. He spread out his wings, turning them visible for added dramatic effect. While the witchfinders stood gaping at him, Aziraphale walked to Crowley and began flipping some levers to free some of Crowley’s restraints.

“He’s a demon too!” Giselle screamed. “We should have seen past that false exterior!” She was drawing a knife out of her belt while the man and woman respectively brandished a spear and water gun.

“Touch that demon catcher again and you’ll receive a blast of holy water to the face,” the woman threatened.

Aziraphale hesitated. Holy water wouldn’t affect him, but he was standing too close to Crowley for the latter not to be splashed a little.

“Get out of here,” Crowley snapped at him, concern in his eyes. “I can handle myself.”

Aziraphale ignored him, taking a step to his right, away from Crowley. He didn’t put down his sword, but he let the fire go out and assumed a posture of caution and surrender, one hand open and extended reassuringly.

“Good,” the man drawled. “Take another step away.”

“Careful,” the woman muttered to the man. “It fooled us before; it’s a wily one, and those are the ones you have to watch out for.”

If these witchfinders hadn’t captured and tortured Crowley, Aziraphale would have tried to say something soothing to get their guard down. He would have calmly informed them that they were mistaken, he was an angel, thank you very much, and he had a handle on this whole demon situation. Everything was under control, so he appreciated their dedication, but they were currently unneeded.

But the witchfinders  _ had _ hurt Crowley, so every diplomatic instinct flew from Aziraphale’s mind. He charged at them, his sword reigniting itself.

The woman shot a blast of holy water at him, but now Aziraphale was far enough away from Crowley that there was no chance of any hitting him, so he didn’t worry about it. Aziraphale was more than a little out of practice*, but some instincts were harder to let go of, and he easily parried Giselle’s knife which followed soon after.

 

*He hadn’t actually fought anyone with a sword for at least five hundred years, though he had threatened a few people with one since then.

 

“It’s not reacting to holy water!” The woman had lost her calm facade and now looked completely panicked.

“That’s because I’m a not a demon,” Aziraphale retorted, stepping forward to slice the man’s spear in half. 

He managed to bash the man’s head with the hilt of his sword, causing him to fall over unconscious. The flames from Aziraphale’s sword got a bit too close to the man, and the air was suddenly filled with the scent of burning hair. 

Giselle rushed back at Aziraphale, and the woman brought out another sword. It was a long fight, in part because Aziraphale was trying not to kill either of them. He might be furious with them, but not enough to break his moral code. All of them ended up with more than a few scratches, but eventually Aziraphale defeated them both.

The man and the woman were lying unconscious on the ground, while Giselle was still awake, tied up with the rope she had meant to hold Aziraphale with. Ignoring her shouted obscenities, Aziraphale walked purposefully back to Crowley. Now that he was no longer carrying a sword, Aziraphale had both hands free to untie the knots and straps.

“They really went overboard trying to hold you down, didn’t they?” Aziraphale remarked. After defeating the witchfinders and being well on his way to setting Crowley free, he was significantly more cheerful.

“They’re quite terrified of me,” Crowley bragged, flicking a forked tongue at Giselle who growled out some insults.

Aziraphale loosened the final knot, and Crowley pulled himself away from the device.

“Thanksss, angel.”

“What are we going to do with this lot?” Aziraphale surveyed the three defeated witchfinders, paying no mind to Giselle who was now asking if he really was an angel, her questions growing more demanding and disbelieving with each second.*

 

*Which was quite an impressive feat, considering the level of demanding and disbelief she had started at.

 

“Give them a tour of the worst spots in Hell,” Crowley suggested. Aziraphale knew Crowley wasn’t serious because he would never get Hell involved if he didn’t have to, but it caused Giselle to increase the volume of her screaming and cursing.

Aziraphale turned towards Giselle and put on the most threatening voice he could. To him, it sounded over the top, but she cowered back. “My friend here wants to subject you to the horrors of hell. I am of a more merciful leaning, but if you try to cross either of us again, hell will seem like a vacation spot. We have stopped the rise of the anti-Christ, and brought him to our own side. We are not beings to mess with. We will not be so kind a second time.”

Giselle frantically nodded her head, quiet for once.

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, and the two of them left the horribly rundown building.

“We didn’t really stop Adam from doing anything,” Crowley pointed out, once they were outside. “And we joined him more than he joined us.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, his sword tucked into his belt. The tension had left his face and shoulders. The walk back to his bookstore was going to be far more pleasant than on the way away from it. “But it sounds impressive, doesn’t it?”

“True,” Crowley said. “It’s been awhile since you’ve had to be that frightening.”

“They deserved it,” Aziraphale insisted. “I’m just glad you’re safe now.”

“So am I,” Crowley replied.


End file.
